


We're Fucked Up (In a Beautiful Way)

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Series: Stucky - Desperately in Love Universe [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blushing, Blushing Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, But Works through them!, Coming Untouched, Crying, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Emotional Trauma, Full Bladder Sex, Human Disaster Bucky Barnes, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, Love, M/M, Married Sex, Mention of wedding, More specific context around any potential triggers in the A/N at end of work, Omorashi, Smut, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Swearing, Trust, Watersports, Wetting, Working past shame, basically this is weirdly intimate niche porn, brief panic attack, intimacy kink, mentions of torture, squirming, they are super intense yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29026737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Bucky runs into some confusion around trauma and his kink. Steve talks it out with him and then solves the problem indefinitely by keeping his original promise to Bucky:“Gonna fill you up so good babe, get you so full you’ll be screaming by the time it’s over.”So yeah, this is another fic about pee and intimacy and recovery. Why? Because Bucky Barnes working through shame and moving right past it into awesome sex is my kink.Enjoy!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky - Desperately in Love Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743424
Comments: 19
Kudos: 98





	We're Fucked Up (In a Beautiful Way)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Beautiful Way" by You Me at Six. 
> 
> Go listen to it. Trust me. It's awesome and fits the story so well.
> 
> This fic fits into the Desperately In Love Universe after Not Supposed To (Know Me So Intimately), but before the other two parts.
> 
> Honestly, I'm nervous as fuck to post this, because it is by far the most depraved and also the most emotional thing I've written. I'm no stranger to trauma myself and I kind of really felt for Bucky in this. I've actually had this in my drafts for almost a year, waiting for the right time to post it. And I think that time is now. So I hope people enjoy this, and that it resonates with some of you out there like it did for me. Please feel free to leave a comment, as long as it's a positive one, and let me know I'm not alone here! Also, it's never too late for healing. And since this is fic, it's gonna be of the ~sexual healing~ variety ;)
> 
> Also - for anyone who wants a quick run down of potential triggers before reading, please skip to the A/N at the end!

They are both in bed. It’s late when Bucky wakes up, the darkest part of the night, in fact. He doesn’t know what wakes him. But suddenly, he feels awful. Panicked, but in an unfamiliar way.

He tries to orient himself, to use his senses to ground himself in reality. He goes down the list, focusing on each thing individually as he goes – the scritch-scratch of the sheets under his skin, the warmth of Steve’s body asleep beside him, the smell of Steve’s shampoo on the pillows, the gentle compression of his new wedding ring around his finger, the distant tick of the clock in the kitchen. But it doesn’t help.

He knows where he is, knows _who_ he is. This isn’t about the Winter Soldier, not really. For the first time in a long time, Bucky is afraid of the _present,_ not the past. What he’d done with Steve the week before their wedding had been so…insane. If he thinks about it logically, it really was fucked up. And just…it’s the dead of night, and even with his husband peacefully asleep beside him, Bucky can’t stop himself from wondering. Is it something he’d always liked that he’d just discovered? Or is it something born of the Winter Soldier?

God, he can’t _breathe_ anymore. He can’t live with himself if it’s the latter. If it’s…if it’s because of all the torture.

Oh God.

It would make _sense_ , though.

So much fucking sense.

It’s such a _weird_ thing to like…it _has_ to be because of his experiences at the Winter Soldier. He breath is coming in shallow pants now. He rolls over on his side and curls himself into a ball at the edge of the bed, as far as possible from Steve. He doesn’t want to wake him. He’s such a wonderful husband. And Bucky is…messed up.

He can’t remember much from his time with HYDRA, thank God, but he knows he’d been treated as something sub-human – a killing machine, a tool, not a person.

He’s pretty sure he’d pissed himself about a thousand times on the chair – electric shock will do that to you. He’s also pretty sure he was expected to sit through ridiculously long indoctrination sessions, mission debriefs, and assorted HYDRA bullshit. Since no one really saw him as human, no one gave a shit about giving him breaks, but they definitely made sure to keep him hydrated, so he could stay in peak fighting condition.

Twelve hours into a meeting, just sitting there, he knows he’d have pissed himself at least twice.

What he doesn’t know is whether he’d _cared_.

 _Soldat_ was pretty cold and calculating, had most of the feeling drilled out of him. He’s talked about it with Steve, Sam, and his therapist at length. He can use it to his advantage now, turn it on or off depending on the situation. It’s like a damn _skill_. Sometimes, it’s useful. But these days, he’s aware and in control of the switch. He can turn it on or off anytime he damn well likes. But as _Soldat_ , fully programmed, he isn’t sure whether he’d have felt much.

Things like fear, or embarrassment, or shame.

Pain, sure, he’d felt that.

But what about discomfort?

Would he have been aware of needing to pee? Or would it just have been something peripheral, something he didn’t notice or care about? But what if…what if he _had_ cared? Or, or worse, what if he’d _asked_? Asked to get up. Did he beg? _Cry_?

Fuck.

Is that…is that what this is all really about? He can’t stand it if this thing he does with Steve is really all about his fucked up past.

 _Is_ he fucked up? Should he ask Sam for a new therapist recommendation? Does he tell… Steve? Tony, maybe he would understand? He’d been a prisoner once, too. Who does he need to talk to about this? How does he make sure he’s _okay_? 

Should he…should he stop? Is this like some sort of fucked up PTSD response? Playing out his trauma over and over again, only it’s worse, because he’s fucking dragging Steve down with him? Oh God.

He’s shaking now, a sobbing mess.

Steve, of course, wakes up.

“Bucky, Bucky, oh my God, baby, what’s wrong?” Steve is asking.

He reaches out, starts to tuck Bucky against him, but Bucky just shoots out of bed, eyes bright and wild with panic.

He can’t let Steve touch him ever again, not if he’s fucking _tainted_. Stained with the sins and sacrifices of his past. Branded by victimhood.

“Don’t touch me!” he screams. “You…you can’t.”

Steve just stares.

Bucky crumples in on himself, covers his face with his hands and sobs. Steve throws the covers back, gets up and steps in front of Bucky.

“I’m gonna touch you, okay?” he says, quiet and gentle. Like you’d speak to an animal. Maybe _he’s_ no better than an animal. Bucky wails.

Steve realizes this isn’t going to get better, so he just stops talking, drags Bucky to the bed, gets him down in it, and lays on top of him. They do this sometimes, when Bucky freaks out. The weight seems to calm him. Steve is like a super heavy, super warm weighted blanket, all tucked around Bucky. He speaks quiet nonsense into Bucky’s ear, gentle and soothing, until Bucky calms down.

Steve looks him in the eyes then, the only light coming from a streetlamp outside, filtering in around the blinds. Bucky blinks and holds Steve’s gaze.

“Okay?” Steve asks, quiet and solemn.

“No,” Bucky says in the same honest tone. No space for bravado tonight.

“Tell me,” Steve says. “I’m your husband. You can tell me anything.”

Bucky knows he means it. He feels bad for freaking out.

“Sorry I freaked out,” he says.

Steve shakes his head. “Never apologize for that. I know life is hard for you. I love you. I’m here.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, then thinks a minute. “If I’m gonna do this, can you spoon me? I can’t…I can’t look, right now, at you...” he says.

Steve looks sad, but understanding. “Okay,” he says.

They rearrange.

Once he’s tucked securely, his back to Steve’s front, 250 pounds of super soldier all around him and their heavy comforter pulled up over the top, Bucky starts to talk.

“I was thinking about the other week,” he starts slowly, tentative.

“Oh?” is all Steve says. He doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “It was…great. It was _so_ great. I was so…”

Fuck, he’s starting to get turned on. Just _thinking_ about it. No. He can’t. It’s not okay after all. _He_ is not okay.

He thought it was, though. He thought _he_ was okay, too.

Guess not.

He bites back a cry.

“Go on,” Steve murmurs, low and inviting.

Bucky swallows once and soldiers on. “Fuck, Steve, I was so _into_ it. I really was. Like, I’m getting hard right now, what the fuck? I’m so panicked, _shit_ ,” he says. It’s all rushed.  


Steve just hugs him.

“I started thinking about, about _him_ , Steve,” Bucky says.

“He’s part of you,” Steve says quietly, and his tone says, _I don’t mind_.

“I know you don’t,” Bucky says, responding to Steve’s tone instead of his words. “And yeah, I know he is. But I don’t want…what if what _we do_ , what if _what I like_ , is actually all about _that_?”

Steve makes a face behind him; Bucky knows because he can feel the muscles shift in Steve’s jaw where it’s tucked against his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t say anything. Just gives an encouraging little peck on Bucky’s skin. It feels so good he shivers.

Fuck, he’s scared.

“Fuck, I’m scared,” Bucky says out loud, and his voice breaks.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “I _married_ you. I came _after_ you. I _love_ you. I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me, and I won’t run or be disgusted or hate you. _I_ _swear_.”

Steve doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He even went back in time for a few minutes last year, just to give Peggy that dance and tell her about them. So Bucky knows he means it.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers quietly. “Okay. You just…you have to promise not to kill anyone. They’re all dead already. I did it myself, that first year.”

“No promises there,” Steve says darkly. “Tell me. _Now_.”

“They…did stuff to me. Treated me…not human. You know that,” Bucky says. Steve does, but he still tightens his grip on Bucky reflectively, protectively.

“I…there was a lot of water. Staying hydrated helped me stay in peak condition, you know?”

“Go on,” Steve says. The words are a growl.

“I don’t remember that much for sure,” he says, trying to lessen the impact.

Steve just grunts. _Get on with it._ Bucky knows the anger is not directed at him. Steve is so _great_ , honestly. He fucking _loves_ that Steve Rogers gets just a little bit bloodthirsty, but only for him.

Still, he’s afraid to say it, because…what if it’s true?

“Buck,” Steve says, tone warning.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and gets the words out. “I pissed myself. Kind of a lot. Between the shocks and the long meetings where nobody saw me as human, it just…happened. A lot. And I mean, sniping missions and stuff, too, but that’s different, I was alone, nobody made me, I don’t really care about that.” He takes a deep breath, tries to get back on track.

“They made me piss myself a lot and I was afraid that it’s the only reason I like what I do with you. Why I get off on it so much, you making me do that. What if it’s all just because of my…trauma? _What if I’m fucked up?_ ” He says the last of it in a whisper, too afraid to let the words out into the world, in case that makes it real.

“Buck,” Steve says, and his tone is unreadable but gentle. “Turn over.”

Bucky flips onto his back, but keeps his eyes shut tight.

He lets Steve’s gaze bore down on him though, curls himself small and compact, and lets Steve cradle him.

“First of all, I am so _unspeakably_ angry that I could kill them all with my bare hands,” Steve says. “Just rip them apart, one by one. But thankfully, you’ve already done that. Good for you.”

There isn’t an ounce of humor or flippancy in his words. Bucky realizes Steve truly _means_ every word. He's actually _happy_ Bucky killed them. Despite the situation, Bucky kind of thrills a little bit. Something to explore for later, perhaps. He has enough going on right now.

“Second,” Steve says, “I am _so sorry_ , Buck. I love you and I hate that you went through that.”

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbles, his eyes still closed. Normally, he hates pity. But this is…not quite that. It’s something else. And, it’s Steve. He softens a little bit more, relaxing into the mattress and Steve’s hold on him.

They stay like that for a little while. Comforting and being comforted.

Then Bucky tenses a bit, like he’s steeling himself for something.

“Do you think it’s true?” Bucky asks into the silence, holding his breath.

Steve’s eyes search his face.

“No,” he says, and he means it. “Not exactly.”

Bucky squeaks, and bursts into relieved sobs.

Steve rolls Bucky against his chest and continues.

“I think that people are defined in two ways. By their experiences, and by their hearts. Sometimes their experiences can be bad, and they have to find ways to deal with the pain. I think you found a way to change something bad into something good.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky mumbles. He sounds so suspicious Steve almost laughs. But he doesn’t.

“I think there’s no way to know if this was some interest encoded into you at birth or not. But even if we say it wasn’t, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

“How?” Bucky spits the words against Steve’s giant pecs. Steve pets his hair, holds him tighter while he shakes.

“Because you basically subverted their intentions and expectations. You’re always doing that, Buck. So I know that’s what happened here, too.”

“Huh?” Bucky peaks up from Steve’s chest, looks him in the eye.

“You turned something that you had no control over and that was meant to degrade you into something that you control entirely, something that you actively _choose_ to engage in, something that gives you pleasure instead of pain. You took something that felt bad and turned it into something that makes you feel good.”

“But,” Bucky ducks his face again. He can hear the pride in Steve's voice, but it's possible the guy just doesn't understand. He tries to explain. “But it _does_ hurt and it is at least a _little_ humiliating.” Steve does laugh then, gentle and musical.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But there’s good pain and bad pain, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Buck asks. It’s muffled because his face is hidden again.

“I mean bad pain is something done to you. Good pain is the kind you choose yourself, for fun. Like, pushing yourself in the gym or, you know, sexy pain,” Steve says. “You like intense sensations, Buck. I know this about you. You liked being tickled when you were six, you liked being drunk when you were nineteen, and you liked it when girls gave you more love bites than they should’ve when you were twenty-one. _I know you,_ ” he hisses, and his grip tightens on Bucky's skin. “I know what you like.”

“You – you really think so?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, Buck, I really do. I think you went through some bad shit, and it scarred you, but instead of letting it break you like 99% of the population would have, you not only survived in that environment, but figured out how to _thrive_ when it was over. You turned it into something _for_ you instead of something against you. You took away its power to haunt and destroy you. You’re fucking _amazing_ baby.”

Bucky snuffles into Steve’s t-shirt. He’s kind of shaking.

“And Bucky?” Steve says, voice pitched low against the shell of Bucky’s ear. “If you like how it feels when your bladder is so full you’re about to _burst_ , when it hurts so good you’re _crying_ , I don’t mind. I’ll just have to make sure it’s _my name_ you’re crying out.”

Bucky jerks in Steve’s arms, suddenly desperate for it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve laughs. “We just had a heart to heart. That was intense for you. Let’s get you some rest, and we can talk more in the morning.”

“Don’t wanna talk more,” Bucky says, petulant. “Want to _play_.”

“Oh,” Steve says, cheeks turning pink. “I thought you were going to say you just wanted to fuck. But you want…that? Now?”

“Yeah, yeah, Steve, want it, want you so bad, I have to piss, _come on_ , make me, fuck, I’m so hard, Steve, baby, _please_.” He says it all in a rush.

Steve knows he should say no.

He knows he should force Bucky to take some time, to process.

But then again, Bucky has had people telling him what to do and how to feel and when to wait things out for way, way too long. He doesn’t need that – and certainly not from his _husband_. What he needs is someone who is going to _listen_ to him, to trust that he knows his limits, someone who is going to give him the power to decree exactly what _he_ wants for himself.

Steve gets up.

Bucky just lays there, panting in the dark.

Steve comes back.

He has the two champagne bottles from the wedding tucked between his fingers.

He does not have any glasses in his other hand.

He sits back down on the bed.

Bucky’s chest is heaving crazily.

Steve helps him sit up.

“I believe you have to pee, you said?” He asks Bucky casually, like it’s any other conversation.

Bucky can’t speak, so he just nods.

“Good,” Steve says, and then pops the first champagne bottle, right there on the bed.

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Drink up,” Steve says.

Bucky looks confused for a few seconds, but at the dark look in Steve’s eyes, he does as he’s told.

“I know we can’t get drunk with the serum and all,” Steve says, still in that same maddeningly casual tone, but there’s an edge to it now. “But do you know what alcohol is great for? Making you have to pee really, _really_ bad - really, _really_ fast.”

Bucky blanches, but keeps drinking. He’s got half the bottle down by now. If he weren’t a super soldier, this wouldn’t be possible, but since he is, he guzzles that shit down, because fuck, Steve told him to and he’s been listening to Steve Rogers’ harebrained ideas since he was fucking six years old. Can’t stop now.

“How’s it feel?” Steve asks suddenly. Bucky has about a third of the bottle left now.

“How does what feel?” he asks, struggling a bit to parse the words. He’s not drunk, but he certainly feels like it right now. Everything is hazy, his defenses are down. He feels…floaty?

And Jesus Christ, he has to piss so fucking bad already. He’d been sleeping and then he and Steve had talked for a while and he’d cried and then more time had passed and now he’s drinking the champagne Steve stole from their wedding for _exactly_ this purpose, he’s realizing that part just now, and fuck, it’s a _lot_.

“How does it feel, knowing I’m going to literally _fuck the piss out of you_ in a few minutes?” Steve says, low and deadly.

Bucky pisses his pants a little. Right then and there. Goddamnit, he loves these black boxer shorts. They have little tiny cartoon machine guns on them. They're, like, his favorite ones.

“Oh, shit,” Steve says.

Bucky has a weird sense of quivering, like in an earthquake. Then he realizes he and Steve are both shaking so badly that they’re jostling the bed.

“I just…” Bucky trails off. “Oh no.”

Steve looks like a dying man, kneeling next to him, hands making white-knuckled fists on his thighs.

“You just…?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, kind of awed.

“Can you…can you hold it longer?” Steve asks.

“Um, yeah. I think so? _Fuck_ ,” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have to go so fuckin’ bad.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, all eager and weird and shit. Fuck, Bucky loves doing this with him _so_ _much_. Steve drops his voice low, uses that Captain America authority. “ _How_ bad?”

“I feel like I’m going to explode,” Bucky whispers. “It’s all I can feel. Hard and hot and _huge_. It’s fucking painful,” he confesses.

Then he raises his fist and suddenly, he’s finishing off the last third of the bottle all in one go. He drops it on the bed when he’s done. It’s completely empty.

“Why – “ Steve stops, starts again. “Why did you just do that?”

Bucky shrugs, hiccuping lightly. “You told me to finish it.”

Steve just stares, intense and unsettling.

“Because I told you to finish it,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, low and rough. He’s sprawled on the bed, back against the pillows, half propped up. Somehow, he seems to double over a bit. Fuck, he has to _piss_.

“Let go,” Steve says, suddenly.

“What?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Piss, right now. Five seconds. Go.”

Bucky wants to say no, to stop himself, but fuck, Steve said so, and he’s so full, and his body wants to so bad, and oh shit, it’s already happening.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit,” Bucky swears.

“Stop!” Steve suddenly yells.

And goddamnit, Bucky doesn’t know how, but he does.

Steve is a whirlwind, throwing himself off the edge of the bed, digging through drawers.

“I have to fuck you right now,” he says, sounding almost manic. “Right now, oh my God, Jesus, _Bucky_ , I have to fuck you right this fucking second.”

Steve doesn’t swear that often. Pretty much only in bed, or if something really, really bad happens. It’s turning Bucky the fuck on.

Not that he wasn’t literally _pissing himself for it_ a minute ago anyway.

God, is it even possible to get any more turned on?

“Get up, feet on the floor, torso on the bed,” Steve barks in a desperate voice that brooks no argument.

Well, that answers his question. Yes, yes it is.

“Fuuuuuck,” Bucky groans. Steve immediately inserts one lubed up finger. It shoves Bucky forward by a few degrees. The mattress is pressing into his bladder. He’s leaking a little every time Steve moves. There’s so much pressure inside him, now, too.

Steve adds a second finger, carefully scissoring them open inside his husband. He leans down and whispers, low and devastating, “I know this is making it worse.”

Bucky jerks. Something about Steve knowing…definitely makes it worse.

He pisses himself a little more, a short, steady stream, soaking the sheets and his own thigh and one of his feet.

“Oh fuuuuck,” he groans again. “Steve, I _can’t_ ,” his voice breaks.

“Hold it for five more minutes. Not a drop, Barnes, I swear to God,” Steve growls. “I want to be in you, I want to be the thing that makes you lose control.”

“Nghhhh,” Bucky makes a high-pitched whining noise, and squeezes every muscle in his goddamn super soldier body.

He won’t piss himself.

He _won’t_.

He thinks about the champagne.

A whole bottle. Magnum, because Tony Stark is a fucking egoist. That’s one and a half liters. That’s over 50 ounces, inside of him. In addition to already having to piss because he was fucking asleep.

He can’t do it.

He’s going to start pissing right now.

He can _feel_ it.

But Steve said no.

He bows his head and holds on.

He’s shaking.

His cheeks taste salty.

Distantly, he feels Steve petting his back with his free hand, murmuring about how good Bucky is doing, how impressed he is.

Yeah, Steve’s not going to be impressed if he doesn’t get on with it, because Bucky is gritting his teeth and squeezing his entire body for all he’s worth, but this is a battle he is going to _lose_.

And then all of a sudden Steve is inside him, and oh Jesus Christ, it’s so intense that Bucky really is going to die.

Steve starts thrusting and talking immediately. It’s filthy and disgusting and Bucky _loves_ it.

“You have to pee, baby?” Steve croons, “Oh yeah, I know you do.” Steve shoves him harder against the bed, and _fuck,_ the edge of the mattress, oh fuck, oh shit.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and _whines_.

“How bad, baby? Tell me,” Steve says. He sounds breathless, like he can’t get enough.

“I’m literally about to piss all over both of us,” Bucky grinds out.

“No, _you’re_ not. It’s not a choice, or an accident. When it happens, it’s gonna be because _I’m_ gonna _make_ _you_.” Steve growls, puts both hands on Bucky’s hips, and goes to town.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky yells. “Oh hell, oh Jesus, oh _fuck_ , oh my God.”

It’s so intense. It’s indescribable, really. His bladder is so full and his ass is full of Steve and the mattress is digging into his bladder and Steve’s thrusts keep bouncing and jostling him and he’s had fifty ounces of champagne and –

“ _Oh_.” It’s a small little exclamation for what’s happening. He’s pissing. But not, not like normal. Something’s…different. Before he can think about it, Steve grabs him by the hair spins them around so that Steve is leaning against the bed and Bucky is up against his chest, facing out.

“I want to see,” Steve growls. He thrusts again, and despite the semi that Bucky’s sporting, another little explosion of piss erupts out of him and arcs off into the darkness.

“Oh, fuuuuuck,” Bucky whines when it suddenly clicks, why this feels different. It’s because Steve is – _literally_ – fucking the piss out of him, a little bit at a time.

They’re gonna ruin the carpet.

Bucky doesn’t fucking care.

“Fuck, that’s so good, Buck. You’re so good for me, oh my fucking _God_ ,” Steve just can’t seem to stop talking. Praising Bucky, asking him to describe how he feels, telling him how good it all is. He’s slamming into Bucky now, hard, brutal thrusts. Bucky is sobbing with the pleasure of it all, the overstimulation. All of a sudden, he realizes that he’s fully hard, and the next thing that comes out of him isn’t gonna to be piss.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” Bucky rushes to get the words out, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna – oh fuck, _I’m gonna come_.”

And then he’s flying, _screaming_ his release into the dark of their bedroom. Steve _never even touched_ his cock. Oh, holy fuck. What is it with this shit? Oh, holy God.

He’s pissing the second he’s finished coming, just huge amounts of it pouring out of him. It’s like he’s a fucking fountain or something. Normally Steve would make an art reference, say something about the Trevi Fountain in Rome or some shit like that, Bucky is sure of it. But right now, Steve is busy _losing his mind_.

“Oh fuck, oh God, Bucky, oh my fucking God, oh- ” It’s a constant litany. Steve is getting close. Bucky is _still_ pissing, and good _God_ , how is there this _much_?

It’s all over his thighs, matting down the thin hairs on his legs. It’s tracked all down his calves, his feet. Steve must be wet with it, too. And the carpet is soaked, both below them and a few feet in front of them, where the force of Steve’s thrusts made it arc out into the darkness.

Steve reaches around suddenly, gets his fingers in the last of the stream, smearing come and piss on his hand, and Bucky twists his head back at the same time. 

Steve comes screaming into Bucky’s mouth not a second later.

They collapse back down on the bed. Bucky kicks the empty champagne bottle to the carpet. The other one is…somewhere. Probably still tangled up in the bedding. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

“Fuuuuuck,” Bucky breathes, body slack as he lets Steve arrange them into cuddles.

“Oh God,” is all Steve says. He’s panting, still.

Bucky is just…so spent, so satisfied. He feels so good.

“I love doing that with you,” Bucky says.

Steve nips his ear playfully. “I fucking love doing that with you, too, Buck,” he says. “Jesus Christ, that was so hot. You just…for me. Oh my fucking _God_.”

There it is again, Steve’s favorite fucked-out swear. It’s an awful thing to say, but it’s what comes out of Steve’s mouth when they do depraved things together, so Bucky kind of fucking loves it.

He spares a moment’s thought for the loss of their carpet, possibly some of their bedding if it can’t be cleaned well enough, and his poor boxers, which he _loves_ and will pay good money to ensure that they can be saved. Then he just lets Steve snuggle into him, focuses on the warmth of Steve’s body flush against his own. The soft puffs of Steve’s breath on his sensitized skin. The _love_ radiating from him. And he thinks, _oh_.

“I get it now,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve just snuffles, clearly trying to listen but also half-asleep despite himself.

“This is mine. It isn’t HYDRA’s. It isn’t about that at all. And I have the power, here. Look how hot you were for me just now. I made it into something that feels fucking fantastic for me, and for us. _I get it now_.”

He’s so awed and relieved.

“I’m so glad, Buck,” Steve wakes up enough to say. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Bucky says. “So much.”

He can feel their wedding bands grinding up against each other when Steve intertwines their hands. They used their engagement bands, but added matching inscriptions on the back of each ring. The inscription reads: ‘ _til the end of the line…and beyond it. S+B_ Below that in smaller script is their wedding date: _5-11-20_. They also added gems to each ring, inset at the top of each band. Bucky’s ring has a sapphire set into it, representing Steve. Steve’s ring has a ruby set into it, representing Bucky. And God, Bucky is just so fucking glad to be married to Steve. He lets himself relax into his husband’s embrace. He’s almost asleep when -

“Wait,” he says.

“Wha-?” Steve’s voice is confused, heavy with sleep and satiation.

“Shouldn’t we…clean up?” Bucky asks.

“Tomorrow,” Steve murmurs.

 _Okay, whatever_ , Bucky thinks. He literally does not care at this point. He can feel Steve’s come leaking out of his ass slowly. It’s kind of…nice? And then he realizes.

“ _Gonna fill you up so good babe, get you so full you’ll be screaming by the time it’s over_.”

Those were Steve’s words the last time they played. And wow, did he deliver. Steve Rogers never, ever breaks a promise.

* * *

The next morning, Bucky wakes up alone. He glances at the window, sees how brightly the sun is shining through the gauzy white and heavy green of their curtain set up. It must be nearly noon. Slowly, he drags himself up. Their room is still pretty debauched, but the carpet and the sheets are somehow gone. Steve must have been very stealthy.

Or Bucky was just very, very fucked out.

It’s…probably the latter, honestly.

A minute later, Bucky drags himself out of bed, pads into the en-suite to piss and shower off last night’s grime, and then steps out into the hall. He walks to their kitchen wearing black pajama pants and no shirt. On the white island countertop there is a huge plate of eggs and toast next to a mug of coffee. He’s so hungry that he’s nearly done with both the food and the coffee by the time he sees the note. It’s clearly been torn from a sketchbook, the edges uneven and the paper thick. It’s written in Steve’s careful, blocky handwriting. He stares at the ink and his heart beats wildly.

_I will be home at 2pm. I expect you to be ready, so drink up._ _I love you. - Steve <3_

He looks up and sure enough, the remaining bottle of champagne is sitting at the opposite end of the counter. Steve didn't even bother to leave out a glass next to it. Bucky's under no illusions. He groans, but the smile on his face is a mile wide as he reaches out and grabs it in his right hand. This is going to be _fun._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For trigger warnings: There are some (non-graphic) mentions of the ways Bucky was treated during his time at HYDRA (basically how they considered him less than human). Bucky has a nightmare/panic attack/shame spiral in the beginning because he's afraid his kink stems from some of his Winter Soldier trauma. He and Steve work through it together though, and it's ultimately a story about healing, intimacy, and taking back your power from something that hurt you in the past. Also if pee stuff squicks you out, I wouldn't recommend this fic. Stay safe and enjoy life, lovelies! <3


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